Let me start by saying that it is good to hear from you, regardless of the circumstances behind this "seemingly random" correspondence. I don't mind at all, but you must know that Elouise and I have decided to go our separate ways.

I moved out of Moscow quite a while ago, started a new - say, normal - life in the States. I had a variety of reasons motivating me to do so, both business and personal. Although I will always be appreciative of what they did for me, I have, for the most part, cut ties with the Orlavs.

Thank you, however, for your concern. I will be cautious should Elouise ever reach out to me, and will, most certainly, contact you should any issues arise.

Oblivious to his antics she teeters forward. Caitlyn didn't even question this new wallet bulge in his trousers. Nah, she was too busy throwing a conniption fit. A tiny hiccup falls forth from her wobbly lips. Pretty soon he is engaged in possibly the brawniest bear hug ever. At least the banshee wails had subsided.

It would be well within his assumptions to assume that Camille herself was crazy. The girl, though she never trotted along and sang about being an angel, certainly didn't make a point to hide it. Those who understood would deal with it or be on their way. Those who didn't would write her off as insane. People who tried to hurt her... Didn't live to talk about it. Elis was somewhere in between, perhaps. Camille didn't understand whether or not he knew about her. Their brief meetings hadn't alerted her to his own situation. Cami didn't assume that daywalkers existed. Not outside of the problematic Jack Horton (good riddance).

Even so. Her challenge stood. The thin line of her lips stretched outward towards her ears, clearly pleased that the man had accepted her proposal. Although he seemed to issue his own conditions; Cami would wave them off... literally. "Whatever you say." Her wrists twists while her fingers wiggle in an attempt to hurry him along. "You cried bored. Look at me, delivering. If you preferred a bored game, you should have said so."

It's not that Camille fancies herself better than haughty, egotistical mouth breathers. It's just that she doesn't care about them. The affect of their lives (besides a chosen few who'd left quite the mark on history) in each of their tiny spans was pointless. Purposeless. They bleed. They cry. They experience love and loss. Congratulations. They die and then the next breed of human is born; each more savage and turbulent than the generation before. Honestly, it's no secret that Cami is not a fan of the human race. Buut it's an argument that's better left unhashed. Her actions quite obviously spoke decibels louder than her words.

Cami's erratic stare follows Elis' hand as it reached for the blade. The petite excuse for a girl takes this as a gesture of his confirmed involvement, but also assumes that the 'ugh' is a form of interjection. Stepping forward on the very tip of her toes, Camille begins to bridge the gap between the two of them, her eyes still very much thin with skepticism. The Angel isn't the type to issue a challenge in the form of actions, but in a sense, that seemed to be just what she was doing.

"All of them." That wasn't true. Not in the least. But she wanted them, and now she was curious as to just how far she could push the bar. Where does Elis Gryffin choose to align himself with humanity? Above or below the bar itself?

Camille's eyes narrow into slits, the feisty blonde refusing to falter even as the man stepped between her chosen victim and her sad excuse for a weapon. There's another huff that emanates from her, bringing to light her frustration sans verbiage. For now, her bladed fingers drop to her sides; blonde hair falling down over her back as she cranes her neck to look up at Elis.

"Fresh toes matter, actually. To ensure optimal range, they'll still be warm. It's best to perform the call before the blood coagulates-" Embittered eyes flicker to the body on the ground, tears having sprung from the mans eyes while he undoubtedly pondered the likelihood of his death. "What's the matter. Squeamish?"

Eons of flaxen waves cascade over Camille's shoulders, momentarily obstructing her view as she leaned down to tighten the gag in the mans mouth. A forceful huff parts her lips, foot absently tapping at the ground beneath her feet until her eyes find Elis'. Cami flips a wall of hair from her face carelessly.

"Toes. Aren't you paying attention?" From her pocket she brandishes the knife, her pale fingers tight around the handle; The sliver of blade reflects the light from above them. "This might come as a surprise to you.. But cell phone service isn't absolute. Calling collect is out of the question."

Camille had already pranced off, having snatched the blade from Elis' hand before doing so. Her trajectory was clear, but would solidify itself to the man when she returned with a mid-sized specimen, bound and gagged, just ten minutes later. Of course, Cami had pulled him by the ropes she had tied his limbs together with, and dropped him at the feet of the lightly bearded man. The wee blonde wasn't bluffing. She actually needed bits and pieces of the man for.. things. Now she was just curious to see if Elis would play along.

"Wowee, is he heavy." Cam brushes off her front, wiping her hands down her jeans to clear them of dirt. "How attached do you think he is his toes, anyway?" Yeah. Pun intended.

Not even a little. You do understand that she is a walking disease, right? She is a key ingredient to my asset's suffering. I don't want to think of her enjoying anything, ever. I like to think of her completely lifeless, right next to her friends. They make a perfect set. The blonde, the brunette, and the soulless redhead. It's like Jesus smiled down at me and said, 'Let me tell you a joke.'

You're a grandfather? That's so sweet. And at 28? I'm impressed, Elis. No, really. I am. I always wondered what it would be like to date a grandfather. Fathers are so yesterday. It's time for society to step up their expectations.

Sure, you might be able to handle me. But you'd be off your rocker for wanting to.

Listen, I'm only going to judge you a little bit for your Twilight knowledge. And while, disturbing, I am also borderline impressed. However, if you are waiting for me to turn eighteen, I must disappoint you. That will never happen. If it is any compensation, most women my age were already married with babies in my day. Though, I must say, I'm not sure you could handle me.

Excuse you. Mood killer? The thought of my naked is a mood killer? How goddamn rude are you? That was no walk of shame. That was sheer determination. And karma was on my side. I bet they got mauled by a grizzly.

F-ck. Don't call me Kiddo. It forces me to remember that you literally stalked me from birth. Like, how much did you actually watch? How much have you seen? Are you the one that stole my dress back in 1929? You realize I had to walk home in naked. Rude.

Thank God. There is a fine line between honest and slimy. Don't cross it. Don't ever cross it. If you did, I'd have to mark you off my list of acceptable drinking buddies. Swayze does nothing for me. Now, if you want to talk Marlon Brando, we can go there. That will land you in the pants faster than you can yell Stella.

"Elis..." She pauses, considering all the ways and reasons to reject his request. But...she's bored. She's back in Bloemfontein, and she feels like her life has taken several steps in the opposite direction. So, she relents. "I'm in South Africa, staying with an old friend. Of course, you're welcome to come. I can't exactly stop you..." She carries the final refrain with some hesitation. After all, she's not desperate. Simply uncertain.

A small grin graces El's freckled features. She's amused, thoroughly and unequivocally. "It's a long story." She moves from her perch beside Logan's crib, long legs taking a much-needed stretch as she paces the length of her room. "Obviously, I'm not in Moscow any longer. I'm okay, though."

She blinked. And then her mouth opened, left slightly agape. Because she's dumbfounded by the man, truly. Then, she relents. "One date. One. McDonalds, and I better get more than a f*cking happy meal. Alright? That's my compromise!"

"There's no friend-zone. We aren't friends!" She shouted back, arms flailing. "And how dare you waste perfectly good cheetos?! What the f*ck is wrong with you!" She scrambled, saving the delicacy from the cold, hard ground. She might have even shed a single tear. "You're a monster! No spooning!"

El's about to put the baby down. And eat. Eat so much food. And then, some jack off with a boom-box goes and demolishes her best laid plans. So, throwing on some sensible clothing (read: onesie) she clamors out towards the man in question, ready to slap a b*tch.